With slightly nervous fingers the Traveling Salesman reached up and tugged at his necktie as though his collar were choking him suddenly.

“So that’s how I learned my table manners,” he grinned, “and that’s how I learned to quit cussing when I was mad round the house, and that’s how I learned—­oh, a great many things—­and that’s how I learned—­” grinning broader and broader—­“that’s how I learned not to come home and talk all the time about the ‘peach’ whom I saw on the train or the street.  My wife, you see, she’s got a little scar on her face—­it don’t show any, but she’s awful sensitive about it, and ‘Johnny,’ she says, ’don’t you never notice that I don’t ever rush home and tell you about the wonderful slim fellow who sat next to me at the theater, or the simply elegant grammar that I heard at the lecture?  I can recognize a slim fellow when I see him, Johnny,’ she says, ’and I like nice grammar as well as the next one, but praising ’em to you, dear, don’t seem to me so awfully polite.  Bragging about handsome women to a plain wife, Johnny,’ she says, ’is just about as raw as bragging about rich men to a husband who’s broke.’

“Oh, I tell you a fellow’s a fool,” mused the Traveling Salesman judicially, “a fellow’s a fool when he marries who don’t go to work deliberately to study and understand his wife.  Women are awfully understandable if you only go at it right.  Why, the only thing that riles them in the whole wide world is the fear that the man they’ve married ain’t quite bright.  Why, when I was first married I used to think that my wife was awful snippety about other women.  But, Lord! when you point a girl out in the car and say, ’Well, ain’t that girl got the most gorgeous head of hair you ever saw in your life?’ and your wife says:  ’Yes—­Jordan is selling them puffs six for a dollar seventy-five this winter,’ she ain’t intending to be snippety at all.  No!—­It’s only, I tell you, that it makes a woman feel just plain silly to think that her husband don’t even know as much as she does.  Why, Lord! she don’t care how much you praise the grocer’s daughter’s style, or your stenographer’s spelling, as long as you’ll only show that you’re equally wise to the fact that the grocer’s daughter sure has a nasty temper, and that the stenographer’s spelling is mighty near the best thing about her.

“Why, a man will go out and pay every cent he’s got for a good hunting dog—­and then snub his wife for being the finest untrained retriever in the world.  Yes, sir, that’s what she is—­a retriever; faithful, clever, absolutely unscarable, with no other object in life except to track down and fetch to her husband every possible interesting fact in the world that he don’t already know.  And then she’s so excited and pleased with what she’s got in her mouth that it ’most breaks her heart if her man don’t seem to care about it.  Now, the secret of training her lies in the fact that she won’t never trouble to hunt out and fetch you any news that she sees you already know.  And just as soon as a man once appreciates all this—­then Joy is come to the Home!